


His Hideous Heart

by BlueNeutrino



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Fic Exchange, Heartbeats, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 17:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18815956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/pseuds/BlueNeutrino
Summary: They tried to kill Jerry before, but they missed the heart.In 18th century Ireland, a vampire chooses one victim to spare from his massacre.





	His Hideous Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ValmureEld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValmureEld/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Shattered Faith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811360) by [ValmureEld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValmureEld/pseuds/ValmureEld). 



> Written for a fic exchange with ValmureEld now that we’ve both caught a thing for Colin Farrell and especially appreciate Jerry. (Still into vampires. Who knew.)
> 
> Both of us wrote something with the theme of exploring how a vampire with body heat and a heartbeat would use this to his advantage. (And nobody is surprised...) This is a detail confirmed at the very end of the movie, which naturally caught my eye.
> 
> I’ve chosen to write Jerry as being originally from Ireland, because a) Colin’s natural accent is delightful, and b) an awful lot of Angelus’ influence crept into this. It also allowed me to play with the Irish term of endearment “mo chuisle”, or, “my pulse”.

_Galway_

_1762_

Blood isn't sweet. It's sharp, metallic, magnetic in its pull and addictive in its acridity, but there's nothing saccharine about the sanguine elixir made all the more bitter by the sharp tang of fear.

The girl, though. She's sweet. Pretty little thing, barely eighteen, with plump lips and flame-red curls; freckle-dusted cheeks that he can't wait to watch pale as he drains the blood from her veins. Big round eyes the colour of the midday sky (he imagines; it's been a while since he's seen it) fixate on him and widen in terror. Feet stumble backwards towards a wall, and a trembling hand clutches a cross thrust out like an offering.

The beast saunters closer. "Small cross you have there." His lips twitch in a smirk, pulling back from pointed, chalk white teeth already stained red with the blood of the bodies strewn across the church. "If only you had a bigger one."

The girl's glistening eyes flit upwards, daring to leave his face for no more than a second as they peer at the crucifix erected above the altar behind him. He watches her lips move in a silent prayer, and his own lips draw back further. "You see, it isn't the cross the holds the power," he purrs, taking another patient, unhurried step. "It's the faith of the one wielding it. So tell me, _mo chuisle,_ do you have faith?"

Her back hits the wall, and he hears the breath leave in her in a terrified stutter. "D-don't come closer, demon." Even stammering in fear, her voice has a pleasing quality like the tolling of church bells. "I'm not your _chuisle._ You don't have a heart."

The beast comes to a stop within arms reach. His head tilts in amusement, black eyes raking over the pale flesh exposed above her collar before panning upwards to her face. Her terror makes her quite beautiful. All the moreso, her defiance. "Don't I?"

In an instant he reaches up, clawed fingers closing tight around her wrist so that even should she want to, she can't lower the cross. He advances again, in the same instant reaching up to part his tunic so that the small metal amulet draws closer to his skin. She gasps, struggles, all for naught as the iron cross in her hand touches his chest, and bursts into flame.

The girl screams. Unconcerned, the demon looks on with an orange glint reflecting the flame in the black pits of his eyes, and as her scorched fingers relinquish their hold, he places his hand over hers. The cross falls to clatter onto the flagstones, and the light goes out.

In the ensuing darkness, only the girl's ragged breathing penetrates the silence. The beast grasps her fingers tightly, guiding them across his chest so that she can feel the lines of charred, raw flesh the cross has left behind. To her surprise, she feels under her touch not the glowing heat of recent fire, but a warmth altogether more subtle; gentle, even, as it radiates along her arm from its origin deep within his chest. To her greater surprise still, beneath her stinging fingers there's the steady thrum of a pulse.

"What is that then," he murmurs, "if not life?"

"No." Defiant to the last, the girl shakes her head and tries in vain to pull away. "This isn't life. Not as God intended—just some mockery of it. It's hideous."

A soft hiss slips between his pointed teeth. In a move too swift for her to track, he releases her hand and instead pulls her body towards him, chest to chest so that his heart pounds against hers. Leaning in, he brushes back a strand of fiery hair from her neck, his breath warm on her skin. "Is that so?" She draws a quivering breath. "Then tell me, what difference do you feel?"

His heart beats fiercely against her ribs, half the pace of hers, but otherwise, there's nothing that would let her distinguish it from human. For a moment, she wonders if this is no devil after all, but merely a sick, depraved man and there's hope for her yet. Then she feels the rough edges of the cross burned into his flesh, and trembles.

A solitary tear strikes down her cheek. The girl shuts her eyes.

"Do you feel your heart?" he continues, lips brushing the vein running down the side of her neck. "Do you hear the blood pounding in your ears? Listen to mine instead. It will make this easier."

Fangs fully extend from their sheaths and sink into her flesh.

For just the briefest moment, the girl tenses, and then her body goes limp. He catches her, holding tight as her blood seeps over his chin, running too fast for him to chase. What might be a sigh of surrender eases from her lungs.

Ravenous, yet controlled, the beast drinks deep. The taste is sharp, as expected, and bitter, yet just maybe there's the hint of what might be sweetness there after all. Blue eyes roll upwards behind fluttering lids, what might be the final movement in a body succumbing to death, but as he feels her pulse slow to near nothing, he carefully extracts his fangs and pulls back.

In what's almost a lover's embrace, he holds her, her head lolling against his neck as he cradles her to his breast. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispers, fingernails extending into talons that comb tenderly through the girl's hair. Half-conscious, a faint moan keens in her throat.

"You want to feel that life I have?" A claw moves to his own neck, finds the dark vein that pulses just beneath his collarbone, and slices into it. Blood almost as black as the night's sky spills across his chest. "Here. Taste it."

The girl moans again. Louder. Desperate.

With both hands, he gently holds her head and guides her lips to the wound, then she doesn't need his guidance anymore. Her mouth clamps tight around the vein, and she drinks.


End file.
